


Stuck in Your Orbit

by jhoom



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Stalking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 08:27:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25347691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jhoom/pseuds/jhoom
Summary: If Bucky were smart, he'd leave; but he just can't seem to leave Steve behind.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 16
Kudos: 140
Collections: Bad Things Happen Bingo





	Stuck in Your Orbit

**Author's Note:**

> a [Bad Things Happen](https://badthingshappenbingo.tumblr.com/) bingo square fill? huh who would've thought XD today's prompts include: stalking & cpr
> 
> [here's the tumblr version of this story](https://jhoomwrites.tumblr.com/post/623939111648149504/x-previously-used-o-current-prompts-stuck-in). feel free to come into my inbox [@jhoomwrites](http://jhoomwrites.tumblr.com) and scream at me about idiots in love haha ~~i also sometimes take prompts~~

Bucky’s not sure it’s technically stalking if you’re following someone around who’s trying to follow you around. Stalking implies a certain amount of resistance on the part of the stalkee, whereas Bucky is relatively certain Steve would be thrilled to know Bucky was tailing him. If there’s one thing he’s learned in the time since the helicarrier fell, it’s that Steve Rogers desperately wants to find him. 

He’s not ready for that, though. He’s not… his head isn’t… They couldn’t… 

It’s not _fair_ , to either of them, to throw them back together just yet. They both need more time to process things. Steve needs to come to terms with what he no doubt considers as a failure to save his best friend, and Bucky… well, Bucky needs to figure out who the fuck he is, first. He’s not sure he could stand showing up at Steve’s apartment and seeing those big blue puppy dog eyes, so earnest and hopeful, only to have to dash those hopes as soon as he opens his mouth. 

So he hides in plain sight. He follows Steve, makes sure he’s alright after Bucky had almost— 

Well, _after_. 

He planned to leave after Steve recovered enough to leave the hospital, but a couple months out, he’s lingering. It’s dangerous for him to do so, he knows it is, and still he can’t bring himself to leave. He nearly boarded a flight to Europe before he turned around and left the airport because no, no he couldn’t do it. He wasn’t ready. 

Not that he has any idea what he’s waiting for. He thinks maybe this is some of his old self, the James Buchanen Barnes that he’s read about in museum and history books. Bucky looked out for Steve before he got the serum, and unlike a lot of the things he reads about himself, that _feels_ right. There’s something fiercely protective inside of him when it comes to Steve Rogers, and even if the big lug’s capable of taking care of himself, he also has a knack for getting himself into some deep shit. 

So he stays, if only because he’s terrified he’ll be reading Captain America’s obituary if he doesn’t. 

It’s also soothing, in a way, to lose himself in Steve’s routine. Morning run, coffee with Sam, various Shield (but not Shield) related activities and often long video conferences with other Avengers, a meal that he only eats because Natascha or Sam pesters him, evening run, and occasionally, if Bucky’s really lucky, he’ll pull out his sketchbook and draw until dark. 

Bucky doesn’t know why, but he likes those evenings the best. 

And once (he only dared once) when Steve fell asleep on his sofa, charcoal smudges across his hands and face, Bucky snuck into his apartment. He carefully took away the sketchbook and charcoal, gently manhandled Steve until he was actually lying down on his sofa instead of sprawled half across it, and pulled a blanket over him. The whole thing was achingly familiar, part of some other routine he couldn’t actually remember, one he was a part of instead of just a spectator. 

He’s been too scared to get that close again. He’s not sure if Steve noticed (in fact, he’d been too afraid to keep his nightly vigil), but he won’t risk it. Not even when he sees Steve fall asleep sitting at his dining room table or the window seat overlooking the street. The urge is there… but he ignores it. 

Easier than dissecting what the urge even means. 

When Steve starts going on missions again, things become more complicated. Obviously Bucky’s own resources are limited, and without access to a private jet never mind a quinjet, there’s nothing for it but to patiently wait. And maybe hack the Avengers’ channels so he listen along. 

And maybe, when he knows Steve will be gone for a while, he sneaks into Steve’s apartment. He sleeps on the couch, tidies up (because apparently seventy years haven’t made him any less of a fucking slob, some fond voice whispers in the back of his head), lives in a space that almost feels like home. It shouldn’t, he knows it shouldn’t, but it’s nice. Clears his head, gives him a strange sort of peace. 

Again, he doesn’t think too closely about the implications of that. 

Whenever Steve comes back, looking worn and sore and exhausted on a level that tickles at the back of Bucky’s memories, he aches with longing. He wants to be there, brushing his hands through ruffled hair and whispering soothing words and forcing the idiot to get some fucking sleep, he needs at least a week of it. 

Not that it’s ever stopped Steve from waking up for his damn run the next day. The man’s a machine, even when he’s in need of repairs, and apparently likes his damn schedule more than he likes actually taking care of himself. 

Asshole. 

That’s probably the problem. The routine, the lack of proper self care. If Bucky’s noticed, anyone else paying attention would too. An ambush is almost inevitable, with all the disgruntled ex-Hydra agents lurking in dark corners. 

Bucky rarely pays much attention when Steve runs. He enjoys the view a little too much, and it stirs feelings he’s not at all ready for. He stays close, watches every now and then through the scope of his rifle, but mostly he eats a sandwich or listens to the news. 

When he hears gunshots, he knows damn well who the target is. 

It takes precious seconds to find where Steve is on his route. With brutal efficiency, Bucky takes out one, two, three, ten attackers. He’s so busy hitting targets that he loses track of Steve for a moment. And then he sees him, bleeding and unconscious and shit shit shit— 

He sprints over, knifes someone who tries to stop him. Some dumb fuck tries to dose him through his left arm, and while Bucky’s not sure if he kills the guy, there’s not a whole lot of people who can survive getting shoved through a brick wall. 

There’s a strange calm around Steve despite it being the epicenter of the attack. Maybe there’s no one left, or maybe the ones who’d survived the Winter Solder’s rage decided to cut their losses and get the fuck out of there. 

Smart move. Bucky’s not sure what he’d do to them right now if they got too close. 

When he kneels by Steve’s side, he knows something’s wrong. He’s too pale, too still and oh shit no no no— 

He takes Steve’s pulse and doesn’t find one. 

Fuck. He can almost feel the panic setting in, and he switches gears. The Soldier’s still inside him, still capable of acting without emotion, and Bucky uses that now. He hands over the reins to the Soldier and sits back, feels his body act. 

At some point, Hydra programmed CPR and basic medical care into him. He’s not sure why—he usually worked alone and was sent to kill not capture—but he doesn’t question it. Whatever the motives, he’s using it for good now. He’s going to save Steve’s life if it kills him, because it will kill him if he can’t. 

It’s hard work. Physically, emotionally, he’s spent. He keeps going, keeps forcing air into his lungs and pumping his chest for a few desperate heart beats. 

In the distance he hears sirens. They get louder. 

Just as distantly, he’s aware of a presence nearby. It’s familiar but it stays away, doesn’t interfere until the EMTs are there and then someone’s gotta hold him back because _don’t fucking touch him_ — 

“Relax,” the Widow hisses. “You did your job, let them do theirs.” 

He watches, helpless, as they bring out a defibrillator and shock Steve on the highest setting. It might be Steve dying but it’s Bucky’s heart on the line, and he waits in agony to know if there’s any coming out of this. 

Steve gasps in a breath of air, then coughs weakly. The EMTs rush to get him on a gurney, to get him in the ambulance, and Bucky watches numbly. He falls to the ground, his legs too wobbly to support him anymore; tears streak down his face, and he’s overcome by a relief so profound he could never put it into words. 

Natascha sits next to him. Her demeanor looks calm, but he can sense she’s a rubber band, poised to snap if need be. 

“You been in town this whole time?” she asks. She watches him carefully, like she can read the answer in his eyes. He’s read her file; she probably can. 

“Yes,” he says. There’s no point in denying it, not with her. She’s not one to believe in coincidence, and he’s not sure he’s any good at lying anymore. 

“So you know he’s been looking for you.” Not a question. 

“Yes.” 

“Were you ever going to see him?” 

Bucky considers. “I don’t know.” 

She nods. There’s the slightest tension in her neck now, a minute change that makes him wary of what’s next. 

“You gonna come with me to the hospital? He’ll wanna see you when he wakes up.” 

His heart skips a beat. He’s not ready, he wants to protest. He doesn’t know who he is right now. He’s dangerous, he might hurt Steve. It’s not fair to put Steve in that position, to make him feel he has to help him just because his old friend may or may not be buried inside his head. It’s not right. 

He says none of this, and Natascha leans forward to whisper, “Whatever you’re afraid of, I don’t think it’s as big a problem as you think. A few months ago you were ready to kill him, and today you’re blowing your cover to save him. You might not feel like you’re who he wants you to be, but he wants you around. And you apparently _want_ to be around.” 

Bucky stares off into the middle distance. He can’t deny that he’s trapped in Steve’s orbit, but the thought that Steve would _want_ him, even like this… it’s honestly never occurred to him. Yeah, maybe Steve might _think_ he wants this out of misguided loyalty to a dead man, some idea that he can ‘save’ Bucky, but here’s Natascha, saying none of that matters. 

Like maybe Bucky Barnes as he was before Hydra messed him up, maybe that guy’s _not_ dead afterall. 

“You going to bring me in if I refuse?” he asks once he’s made his decision. 

She snorts. “Already would have. Don’t know if you’ve heard, but Shield isn’t a thing right now. There’s no one to bring you in _to_.” 

“I’m sure there are plenty of people out there who disagree.” 

“Not my problem.” She stands, dusting herself off before she offers Bucky a hand. “Hospital’s not far. You know he heals fast, we should go quick if you wanna be there when he wakes up.” 

He stares at her and tries to parse out any hidden meanings here. In the end, all he can see is a woman trying to help her friend. It’s strange to think that he _could_ help, but he trusts her judgement. His apparently is not the best. Maybe he should have sought an outside opinion earlier, it could have saved him a lot of trouble.

He takes her hand. She pulls him up. 

“Alright. Let’s go.” 

As he follows her to the hospital, he knows he's not leaving Steve anytime soon.

**Author's Note:**

> Bonus Scene:
> 
> Steve’s felt like a ghost has been following him for months now, ever since he was pulled from the river. Truth be told, it’s the same ghost that’s been haunting him since the damn train, but it’s been more tangible now. Like any time he turned a corner, Bucky would be there. 
> 
> Or the Soldier. 
> 
> He honestly didn’t care which one it was, he wanted, needed Bucky regardless. 
> 
> That was probably why he’d felt Bucky’s lingering presence everywhere. Felt eyes on him, felt like there was someone else living at the corners of his life, in his apartment even, just out of reach… 
> 
> When he blinked awake in a hospital bed (and fuck he really hated that this was so damn familiar), the ghost sleeping on the chair next to him is a little too real. He’s drugged up on painkillers or he hit his head too hard this time. It was too much to hope it was real. 
> 
> And then Bucky stretched and yawned himself awake, his breath catching in his throat when he saw Steve watching him. 
> 
> “Hi,” he said awkwardly. 
> 
> “Hey,” Steve said back. He hoped he was smiling, but he couldn’t quite feel his face at the moment. Couldn’t feel much of anything, truth be told, except the way his heart rate was skyrocketing. “You sticking around this time? Don’t know if I could run you down if you left, but I’m warnin’ you I’d try.” 
> 
> Bucky looked him over skeptically. “Yeah right, punk. You wouldn’t even make it out the room and I’d be gone.” 
> 
> Steve heart might actually have stopped when he heard the old nickname. 
> 
> “But you’re not going, right?” He offered his hand, the motion jerky but the gesture unmistakable. 
> 
> Bucky hesitated, then accepted his hand. He even raised it to his mouth, lips brushing over the knuckles. “I’m not going anywhere,” he promised. 


End file.
